Rant of Ravens Page 5

  “It’s Donald Bursau, the reporter from Birds of a Feather magazine.” She glanced at Miriam. Her aunt’s eyes seemed to urge secrecy.

  “No!” Gertie pushed forward, her voice a wail. “It can’t be!”

  “Why would anyone want to kill him?” asked Forest.

  Gertie whirled on Miriam, her face scrunched with anger. “Maybe we should be asking Miriam that question.”

  “What are you talking about, Gertie?” Charles demanded, placing a protective arm around Miriam’s shoulders.

  “I know for a fact that she was one of the last people in Elk Park to talk with Donald Bursau.”

  “So? Big deal!” scoffed Charles.

  Gertie turned and addressed the rest of the birdwatchers. “I tried returning his call on Tuesday morning, to schedule the interview he’d requested, and the hotel clerk told me he’d checked out on Monday evening. According to the clerk, Mr. Bursau seemed extremely agitated. Then he received a telephone call and his mood changed. He agreed to meet someone, then left, just like that.” She snapped her fingers.

  Miriam pinched her lower lip between her teeth and leaned against Charles. Rachel frowned. What did Aunt Miriam know about that call?

  “I still don’t see what you’re getting at, Gertie,” Charles said, patting Miriam’s arm. “He was obviously alive after he left Bird Haven. You’re such a prattling buzzard sometimes.”

  “Who are you calling a buzzard, you sixties reprobate?”

  “That’s enough,” Eric said. “The first thing we need to do is deal with the present situation. I want everyone to move away from the crime scene. And someone needs to go call the sheriff.”

  At the mention of calling someone, Rachel remembered the cell phone clipped to her belt. Standard issue at Images Plus, she never knew when it would come in handy. “Here, Eric. You can use this.”

  “You dial,” he said, herding them all toward the deer path. “Now everyone listen up. We need to stop talking about this. The sheriff will want to hear from each of us, not a group version of what happened.”

  Rachel moved a few feet away and punched in 911. She explained the situation to the dispatcher, and was told to stay on the line.

  Around her the night had grown quiet. The sun had dropped behind the mountains, shrouding The Thicket in darkness. The birdwatchers clustered in silence. There were no horns blaring, people shouting, or cars whizzing past on busy streets. Out here the wind rustled the willows, night birds called from the meadow, and the creek babbled over stones as it wound its way toward Elk Lake. Chief Joseph’s line in Little Big Man sprang to mind: “It’s a good day to die.”

  Cecilia Meyer’s voice shattered the tranquillity, and Rachel realized it was the first time she’d ever heard her speak. “I suppose this means The Thicket will be off-limits for a while,” she said. “It seems a shame.”

  “Cecilia!” Dorothy said. “A man is dead.”

  “Yes, but did anyone see the bird?”

  A murmuring rose from the birdwatchers.

  Rachel’s head ached. She wanted a chance to talk with Aunt Miriam—alone—before the sheriff arrived and started asking questions. She figured Aunt Miriam might be able to shed some light on why Bursau was murdered. Or who might have murdered him. But would she implicate herself in the process?

  The dispatcher told Rachel help was en route. Soon after, sirens blared in the distance. Two cars with flashing lights peeled up the road and into the parking lot. An ambulance screeched to a halt behind them. Lights and shouts filled the air. Men swarmed from the vehicles.

  An hour and a half later, Rachel shivered in the front seat of a patrol car and Harry huddled in the backseat, snoring sporadically.

  “Sorry to keep you folks waiting so long,” Sheriff Victor Garcia said, sliding behind the wheel. He had just finished at the crime scene. Brown-skinned and stocky, he had dark hair, a thick mustache, and eyebrows that, even at five feet, five inches made him seem imposing.

  Or was it the uniform? Either way, Rachel had developed a healthy respect for the man. As tired as she was, she recognized that he’d done his job with quick proficiency.

  In under an hour he’d moved the birdwatchers away from the crime scene, cordoned off the area with bright yellow police tape, and taken brief statements from everyone present. Then, after surveying the scene, he’d called in the forensic team, members of which were still busy collecting and bagging evidence.

  Garcia clipped his seat belt across his lap and cranked the starter. A blast of cold air vented at Rachel’s face.

  “Oops.” He reached over and flipped it off. Rachel forced a smile.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem,” he said, shifting into drive.

  Harry stirred in the back seat. “What happens now, Sheriff?”

  Garcia glanced in the rearview mirror. “We go to Bird Haven, where you get to answer some more questions.”

  Harry groaned. “What more can we possibly tell you?”

  “That depends on what everyone else has said.”

  Rachel chewed on Garcia’s answer. From the little she knew about police procedure, she assumed that the others had been taken to Bird Haven and requestioned. She was positive Aunt Miriam had skirted the subject of Monday’s conversation with Donald Bursau, but what had Gertie coughed up? Rachel hated to speculate.

  Bird Haven was lit up like Times Square when they pulled into the driveway. Lights shone from every window, and lanterns lit the walks winding around the main house and the raptor rehabilitation facility.

  As Garcia set the parking brake, Rachel climbed out. Harry led the way up the porch steps. The sheriff brought up the rear.

  No sooner had they stepped through the door than Perky swooped down on them. Rachel raised her arms in the form of a cross. “Back off, bird.”

  “What the…?” Garcia’s hand dropped to his gun.

  Rachel considered letting him draw.

  “He’s Aunt Miriam’s pet,” she finally said, cringing as the bird ripped out a strand of her hair and flew away. “Seems he has a thing for red.”

  The sheriff smoothed his mustache, wiping away a smile. “If I were you, Mrs. Stanhope, I’d consider dyeing my hair.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement.”

  The sheriff’s men had gathered the birdwatchers in the living room. Miriam and Charles sat together on the couch, his arm draped protectively across its back and his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. Dorothy and Cecilia perched on the hearth. Gertie had settled in an armchair, and Forest and Eric sat at a table near the window, engaged in a game of chess.

  Harry joined the men at the chess table. Rachel plopped down next to Aunt Miriam and considered knocking Charles’s hand away.

  Signaling to one of his men, the sheriff leafed through a stack of papers the officer handed to him, then smiled. “Okay, folks. Looks like we have everything we need.”

  “Does that mean we can go?” Forest asked.

  “There’s just one more thing. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about the case with anyone.” He glanced around, waiting for signs of cooperation, then pointed to a gangly deputy with a clipboard. “You all know Deputy Brill. He’s going to be handing out business cards with both my home and office numbers on them. If you remember anything, anything at all, call me.”

  The group nodded, then stood in unison like boot camp recruits being dismissed for the first time. Several of them murmured good-byes, Lark tossed Rachel a wave, and Charles pecked Miriam’s cheek. Gertie stopped at the door and drew the sheriff aside.

  “I wish I was a knot in the wall so I could hear what she’s telling him,” Rachel whispered to Miriam. She would lay odds it had something to do with Bursau’s quick checkout on Monday afternoon. Deputy Brill shot Rachel a dirty look, and gestured for her to move to a different chair.

  Harry was almost out the door when the sheriff intercepted him. “I still have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind. In here.” Garcia gestured toward the k
itchen. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d wait here in the living room, Mrs. Stanhope.”

  A dejected-looking Harry followed the sheriff into the kitchen, and Rachel slumped into the seat Gertie had vacated. After a moment, Miriam rose.

  “If you don’t mind, dear, I think I’ll go up to bed.” She looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes, her pale skin wrinkled with worry.

  “That’s a good idea, Aunt Miriam. It looks like this may take a while.”

  “You can wake me when you’re finished, if you like.”

  “Let’s see how it goes. If you’re sleeping, we can talk in the morning.”

  Miriam nodded, her eyes closed. Though middle-aged, tonight she looked old.

  “Good night, dear.”

  “Good night, Aunt Miriam.”

  Two magazines and a cup of coffee later, Rachel looked up as Harry bolted from the kitchen. He flashed Rachel a thumbs-up, then scampered for the door.

  Deputy Brill escorted Rachel to where Garcia was ensconced in the breakfast nook. A cozy cranny built into an oversized bay window, it consisted of a small table flanked by built-in benches. Green-and-white checked curtains draped the windows, and matching material covered the thick foam cushions that softened the seats. Rachel slid onto the unoccupied bench.

  “So, we meet again.”

  “Tell me, Mrs. Stanhope,” Garcia said without preamble, “exactly what happened out there tonight?”

  She met his gaze squarely. “Call me Rachel. And how many times are you going to make me repeat the story? We’ve gone over and over this. Everything’s in my statement.”

  “I’d like to hear it again, if you don’t mind.”

  Obviously the sheriff was fishing for something. “Maybe it would be easier if you just tell me what you want to hear.”

  Garcia smiled patiently, crossed his arms, and leaned back against the bench.

  Rachel gave up on the idea of soaking her bones warm in the hot tub, and repeated the events leading up to the discovery of the body. “We were all at The Thicket looking for this little bird called a LeConte’s sparrow. It likes grass, and shouldn’t be here, but someone spotted one on Monday afternoon.”

  “I’m with you so far.”

  “I heard something hiss, then a lot of crackling in the bushes. More than one little bird could make.” A shiver shimmied along her spine. Had it been the killer she’d heard?

  Garcia replied as though reading her thoughts. “He’s been dead for a while.”

  Rachel drew a breath. “I decided to go find the others. I ran into Lark first, and she asked me to point out where I’d heard the hissing. We were pishing. —.”

  “I know the term.”

  “—when I snagged my socks on a log, bent down, and touched the body. I screamed for Lark, and everyone started showing up. Once Eric arrived, he took charge and had me call 911.”

  “Did everyone seem surprised that you’d found a body?”

  “Of course!”

  “No one acted strangely?”

  Rachel considered how to answer the question. Aunt Miriam had been horrified, Charles had done what men do: he’d taken charge of Miriam.

  Harry had checked the victim’s pulse, taken initial control, and passed the reins off to Eric when he’d arrived with Forest, who had asked the obvious question: Why would someone want to kill Bursau?

  Gertie seemed more upset over the fact it was Bursau who died than over the fact someone was murdered.

  And Dorothy’d been horrified that Cecilia’s main concern was the restriction on birding The Thicket.

  “Everyone was upset,” Rachel finally said.

  Garcia nodded. “What about the vibes among the group? Any tensions? Any trouble?”

  “Such as?” Rachel shifted in her chair. She gazed at the moon perched high in the sky above the silhouette of the Raptor House. She knew he was asking about the confrontation between Gertie and Aunt Miriam. She wondered just how much the others had told him.

  Garcia leaned forward. “I say we put all the cards on the table. I know that Gertie said Miriam was one of the last people to see this guy alive.” He paused. “I also know that your aunt and the victim had a meeting in the barn on Monday afternoon.”

  Rachel dropped her gaze to her hands. It was common knowledge that the reporter had been out to see Miriam. The question was, how much had Aunt Miriam told the sheriff about their discussion?

  “Gertie told us that Bursau checked out of his motel after his visit to the Raptor House on Monday,” Rachel said. “This is Thursday. Has the man been dead for three days?”

  The sheriff’s eyes narrowed. “I’m asking the questions.”

  She had struck a nerve. It suddenly occurred to Rachel that maybe she, and/or Aunt Miriam, needed a lawyer.

  “Now I’ll repeat the question. What happened during the meeting in the barn? Lark says you arrived here on Monday afternoon, about quarter past four. You talked with her for a few minutes, then went outside to find your aunt. Shortly after that, Lark witnessed the victim stomp out of the barn, get in his car, and drive away.”

  Rachel wet her lips. Should she tell him about the warning or not? Not. “Bursau was on his way out when I arrived. My aunt introduced us. Then he left.”

  “They weren’t arguing?” Garcia asked, stroking his mustache. He knitted his brow until it looked like he had one dark eyebrow slashing the width of his forehead. “The guy wasn’t angry about something?”

  Aware that she was a horrible liar, Rachel glanced away. “I don’t know.”

  “Rachel, you’re only making it worse. I’m not sure what you’re covering up or who you’re protecting, but my gut says you’re hiding something.” He sat back and massaged his neck, pinching the skin into tiny rolls of fat. “I’ve known your aunt a long time. I think she’s hiding something, too.”

  “To what purpose?”

  “Somebody contacted that man and lured him to his death. I don’t want to believe it was Miriam, but I have to get at the truth. A man is dead.”

  Either Garcia wanted her to know that the man had been dead since Monday, or he had inadvertently let it slip. Either way, Gertie’d been on to something. “The truth is, Sheriff, I came in on the tail end of the discussion. I’m really not sure what the reporter wanted to know.”

  Rachel read disbelief in his eyes, but Garcia dropped the subject. “Okay, then let’s get back to you,” he said. “What brought you here for the summer?”

  Rachel tensed. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

  “Humor me.”

  Why not? Especially if it steered the conversation away from Aunt Miriam. “I’ve been having some trouble with my marriage.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  Rachel pulled herself up straight. “That is definitely none of your business, and definitely not related to anything that’s happened since I arrived here.”

  “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

  There was no logical reason Sheriff Garcia needed to know anything about her relationship with Roger. “I don’t care to talk about this.”

  “Things must have been bad to drive you away,” he said. His dark gaze held steady on her face.

  She blinked, forcing back the tears. “If you have to know, I’m getting divorced, all right? Aunt Miriam thought I could use a break, and offered to let me stay here while she’s away. End of story.”

  Garcia looked contrite, then shrugged. “Where’s Miriam going?”

  Rachel swallowed. Surely Aunt Miriam had told him she was leaving. “On a birding tour.”

  “Where?”

  “Why not ask her?”

  “I did. Now I’m asking you.”

  “She’s going to the Middle East.”

  “Do you know where?”

  “Look, Sheriff, I’m not Aunt Miriam’s travel agent. Maybe you should ask her for a copy of the itinerary.”

  “I did.” He smiled, then stroked his mustache again. “I hear you’re some ho
tshot public relations person.”

  “So they tell me.”

  “Ever do any freelance work?”

  Rachel frowned, unable to reconcile his line of questioning. “Why?”

  “I’m involved with a youth camp up here. We could use a brochure and some help putting together a fund-raising campaign. It’s pro bono work. Do you think you might be interested?”

  The request came out of left field, but he’d piqued her curiosity. “What kind of ‘youth’?”

  “Troubled.” He scooted out of the breakfast nook. “Like I said, it’s all pro bono. Give it some thought.”

  “I’ll do that.” She’d never done any freebie work, but if the cause was good…

  “Great.” He flashed a smile, then added, “I hope I don’t need to tell you not to leave town.”

  A line right out of a TV cop show, and here she’d started to think maybe there was more to this man than the stereotype. “I’ll let you know if I plan to go anywhere.”

  “Good.” He started to walk away, then swiveled back. “Oh, by the way, that goes for Miriam, too.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Rachel charged upstairs to Aunt Miriam’s room the minute she’d closed the door behind Garcia. Her aunt had a few questions to answer now that Bursau was dead. Like had she had any further contact with the man before his murder? And just how serious did she think his warning was?

  Dappled moonlight illuminated the master suite. A short hallway led past a walk-in closet, a bathroom, and into an oversized room furnished with a bed, two nightstands, two dressers, and a loveseat. A half-packed suitcase was open on the floor near the foot of the bed. Aunt Miriam lay snuggled under the covers, her hair braided and wrapped around her head like a halo, a light snore seesawing past her lips.

  The urge to shake her awake tingled in Rachel’s fingers, but, in the end, she clenched her hands and went to bed without waking Miriam.

  Morning came early after a fitful night’s rest, and Rachel made a beeline for Miriam’s bedroom. She found the bed made and her aunt gone. A sweep of the house turned up only Perky. In fact, the only sign that anyone besides Rachel had been there was the half-full pot of freshly brewed coffee on the kitchen countertop.